


Graze

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir finds excuses to throw himself across Lord Elrond’s lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graze

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “when Lindir should be punished for something” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=25625602#t25625602).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It was a nearly sensual process, cutting off his hair. He stood before a full-length mirror and swept long, dark strands over his shoulder to carefully slice away. He used one of his master’s daggers, the pull on his scalp just enough to make him wince. But the pain was exciting, in its own way, because it foreshadowed what was to come. Every strand that wafted to the floor represented another blow: another kiss of a touch that he now submits himself to. 

He drapes himself down across his lord’s thighs, arms cushioning his face against the plush surface of the bed. The evening light streams in through the open balcony to dance around his frayed hair, sheared nearly to the skin in an abhorrent, unseemly mess. It’s the sort of thing that Lindir would find horrifying in another—and indeed he does, when he’s asked to attend to Dwarven or even hobbit guests—and even though it was his own doing, his cheeks still burn with _shame_. An elf takes pride in their appearance, in their hair, in the long, careful waves that represent the eternity for which they live. Yet Lindir’s sliced it all away, just for a chance to occupy Lord Elrond’s lap. 

It’s all worth it, the second Elrond’s deep voice purrs, “This was very naughty of you, Lindir. I expect better from my attendants.”

Lindir mewls a hushed, “I am sorry.” Even though Elrond doesn’t sound especially displeased. He isn’t angry, never is, and it can be very difficult to force his hand—to make him discipline his younger servants. But when they’re alone like this, when the Last Homely House holds no guests with straying eyes, Lindir finds ways to earn punishment, light though it is. 

He can hear the mild amusement in Elrond’s voice as he runs his hand over Lindir’s wrecked head, turned in the mattress. Lindir’s breath is hot against the sheets, and he doesn’t dare look his lord in the eyes. He finds these games both humiliating and intoxicating, and it’s easier to pretend he isn’t so starved and desperate for this touch. He resists the urge to turn and nuzzle into Elrond’s hand, and instead lies still while Elrond pets along his cheek. “If nothing else, you should’ve come to me before you cut your beautiful hair.” Lindir shivers, grits his teeth to bite back his moan, and fists his long fingers into his palm to keep from squirming along Elrond’s lap. Elrond’s hand drifts down the slender line of Lindir’s spine, coming to rest, finally, over the hump of his rear. “Did you forget, perhaps, that part of your duty to me is that I should enjoy looking at you?”

The first smack comes. It’s only light: a mere swat of Elrond’s palm, centered around the round curve of Lindir’s ass. He can feel the tantalizing touch even through the thick layers of his robes, and he wishes, not for the first time, that he were stripped _bare_ under this punishment. But Elrond is the gentlest of the elf lords, and even in this private, strange game of theirs, he remains chaste. He would, perhaps, do more if Lindir asked it, but Lindir can’t bring himself to do more than lift his rear into his lord’s touch, breathing raggedly, “I apologize.”

Another blow rains down, this time right across both cheeks. The sharp sound makes Lindir wince as much as the sting. Elrond rubs his hand down over where Lindir’s crack lies beneath the fabric, voice cooing, “You must learn, my dear Lindir, that an elf has a certain duty to appear... appropriate... in public. Now, what would Thranduil or Galadriel think if they visited to see my attendant so wantonly cut?” 

It would be much easier, Lindir imagines, to earn a spanking under Thranduil’s rule. Lindir wouldn’t ever dream of behaving so improperly around Galadriel or Celeborn. But for his Lord Elrond... he fails to stop a small mewling noise, his fingers curling in the blanket below. 

Elrond slaps him again. It’s fair, even, fingers splayed to cover as much area as possible, and another follows, then another. Elrond works into a steady rhythm, hard enough for Lindir to feel the sting through his clothes, but never quite brutal enough to hurt. It’s the perfect balance, like all of Elrond’s gifts. He talks over the beat of smacking sounds, “I should hope that you would do nothing so brazenly vulgar as this in the future.”

“Never, my lord,” Lindir replies, trying very hard to achieve his usual, level voice instead of the shaky, breathless moan Elrond’s attentions have reduced him to. Each time Elrond’s hand makes contact, Lindir’s hips are pounded into his lord’s strong thighs and crotch, and though there’s far too much fabric between them to feel what Lindir truly wants to, the brush is exciting nonetheless. Even more so is the idea of it, of being so thoroughly _dominated_ by his master, the one person he admires more than anyone. Lindir would do _anything_ to please Elrond, but he also jumps too easily at new concepts, new games, new ways for him to feel tempered by his lord’s hand. Each blow makes him hot, makes his breath hitch, makes him want to grind his hips into Elrond’s. Instead, he’s obedient and still, simply enjoying the ride. 

Elrond rewards him for it with crisp, curt slaps that bring his ass to a burning point. Only when Lindir is very nearly breathless, writhing and needy, does Elrond end the torment. His last blow lingers, his fingers climbing the round hump of Lindir’s ass to slide over the dip in his lower back, petting him softly. Lindir still stays, dizzy and spent, though still hungry for _more._

After a bit of soothing, of soft touches and the pleasant silence of the room and golden light, Elrond bends to scoop his arms under Lindir’s waist. He helps bring Lindir up to sitting, and Lindir deliberately shifts into Elrond’s lap, slumping against his chest. Elrond smiles indulgently and doesn’t protest. Instead, he brings his hand up to caress Lindir’s cheek, running back up to his ruined hair. 

Then Elrond breathes a string of hushed, fluid words, wrought in the old tongue. Lindir shivers as he feels the magic rush through him, his hair glowing at the ends, then growing, extending, slithering out along Elrond’s fingers to drape over Lindir’s shoulders and down his back. It grows and grows, and Elrond continues to chant and run his fingers through the long locks, smooth and elegant again.

When Elrond’s finished, he spends a few moments finger-coming out the straight waves. It’s a heavenly experience, one that Lindir basks in and hopes to grasp forever. Finally, Elrond’s hand fists in it and pulls, tugging Lindir forward. His lips open automatically, allowing Elrond to duck down and _kiss_ him, sweet and warm, with just a little bit of tongue. Every kiss Lindir’s ever received from his lord has made him melt, and this is no different. He falls in love all over again, and he arches forward, pressing in with everything he has, until Elrond gently tugs him back with a silk-soft chuckle. 

“That is most of all why you must keep your beautiful long hair,” Elrond sighs, while Lindir tries not to blush too deeply under the compliment. “So you will have reigns for your master to guide you.”

Lindir smiles. 

And finally he grows bold enough to run his own fingers through Elrond’s hair, using it to pull his lover to his lips again.


End file.
